


Do you dance my Lord?

by moonsliced



Category: Parasol Protectorate - Gail Carriger
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, M/M, Mackeldama, Murder, Pre-Series, Romance, Smut, soulless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsliced/pseuds/moonsliced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The International Soul Research conference is to be held in London and Conall Maccon, detester of greater social occasions is called to not only stand guard during the closing ceremony but also to attend the following Grand Gala of the event.</p>
<p>A newborn vampire roams the streets of London, draining intellectuals and scientists without hesitation, or finesse, and the B.U.R needs to seek the help from the city’s most outrageous and knowledgeable vampire to solve the case. </p>
<p>All whilst Maccon tries to convince Lord Akeldama that he doesn't need to take dancing-lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you dance my Lord?

The Earl of Woolsey stared at the lavishly decorated façade of the Akeldama town house. He drew a breath that reached all the way down to his toes. He knew the place well, very well. Obviously he owed this to being Chief of the B.U.R and not to his growing interest in the residence’s inhabitant and owner. Still, he couldn’t quite suppress his increased awareness or heightened pulse as he stood before the pale lavender door. Neither could he explain why his cravat, tied by Professor Lyall to be in some sort of order, seemed to shrink with the desire to strangle him. Not at all. It most definitely didn’t have anything to do with that he’d just that day dreamt not so innocent dreams about the vampire and a desktop and had proceeded to take care of the problem that arouse at dusk. With a lopsided grin he remembered the dream and the others he’d had (some of which of the actual, innocent kind). Okay, he might have an inclination as to why not only his cravat but also his trousers felt a bit tight in proximity to Lord Akeldama. A huff and he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

Four murdered daylighters, all highly educated, well respected and seemingly inoffensive, found sucked dry, at random locations across all of London proper. The culprit was Vampire without doubt, but the mess left behind lacked finesse and Maccon was, quite frankly certain that even he, in wolf form during full moon, could kill a human with more tact. Typically this meant newborn. However, neither Westminster nor any of the outskirts Hives had had any successful turns for at least a year and none of them could identify the smell of the evidently young perpetrator as B.U.R had brought articles of clothing worn by the victims for them to sniff. Not that he had any reason to believe them, but fact remained that neither he, nor Lyall could recognize the scent either and given that their sense of smell was far more developed than that of the vampires, he must admit that for once, the Hives might actually not be lying. This in particular vexed him to no end. The Westminster Hive had been acting strange (meer su than usual) ever since it had been declared that London would play host to the International Soul Research conference. Not that he didn’t understand their displeasure (fer the sake of evrathing green in Scotland there’d be a ball…and he’d havv tu attend) but it was simply too much to try to turn no less than three drones in the span of seven weeks. Even the Earl himself, despite his folksy view of manners, found it rather indecent. He still couldn’t fit the pieces together, all his instincts told him that the local Hive was guilty at least to a part, but he was yet to find anything even remotely resembling evidence to support this gut feeling and general B.U.R (and werewolf) skepticism and as the days leading up to the convention grew fewer he was starting to become desperate for a break. If anyone held a grudge against intellectuals the convention would be the opportune hunting-ground and Westminster seemed to indeed hold one, for whatever reason. A handful of B.U.R agents, him included had been ordered to stand guard during the grand gala following the convention and he’d rather have the culprit behind bars before that to spare him the hassle of having to attend that, admittedly, he also very much dreaded that there would be yet another murder should the person responsible for the killings not be caught soon and the thought of not being able to prevent it made anger buzz low in his chest.

This was why he was now awaiting the Drones of the Akeldama household to answer his knock.

His Beta, always the diplomat, had pointedly recommended that he should “Perhaps consider asking the esteemed man, and social butterfly (also the man most likely to know anything about anyone) for some… assistance on the matter.” when he’d stalked the office earlier that morning, fuming with anger over the Daily news, wherein journalists hyped and speculated. ‘Mass murderer on the loose’ ‘The police at a loss in the case of the invisible serial killer’ ‘Why isn’t B.U.R reacting?!’ ‘Convention visitors take heed!’ All to create chaos and increased sales. Maccon very decidedly detested the media.  
“Lord Maccon, what a surprise! I don’t believe this is a requested meeting?” The boyish drone opening the door smiled widely at him but clearly wanted him to state his business before he would be allowed to enter. ‘Vampires an’ their invitations...’ He sighed.  
“B.U.R business, is Akeldama en’ residence?” He raised an eyebrow at the young lad, urging him to speak quickly.  
“Why of course. My apologizes Sundowner. Please follow me and I’ll take you to him.” The drone stepped aside for him to enter and made a practiced bow. Always courteous and correct and so very, very unlike his own pack it was hard to believe they existed in the same country, let alone town. He truly preferred his pups’ more relaxed approach by miles.  
“In here sir.” The drone showed him through a lush hallway and into a wide parlor.  
“My dear Earl Maccon, what a surprise!” Lord Akeldama shone with delight at his appearance in the doorway. He exchanged a brief but knowing look with his drone before the boy disappeared back into the many rooms. The werewolf looked after the drone as he went, a bird behind his highly sensitive ear told him that it was not at all a surprise.  
“Now, to what do I owe the honor?” The pale blonde vampire gestured at a plush chair across from himself. “By all means, do sit, I’ll call for tea.” A drone emerged just then with a tray of tea and sweet biscuits and other treats. Akeldama picked a sugary confection from the thin plate and took a small bite. Apart from the man in front of him Maccon had never seen any vampire consume anything else than blood willingly. This, in the eyes of Conall Maccon said something great about his character. He also knew enough about the other man’s character to know that he most likely knew exactly why he was there. He thumped down into the soft chair with as much grace as a stranded wale trying to get back to water.  
“Aye, cut tha’ pleasantries Akeldama. Ye ken why I’m payen ye a visit.” As if to build up suspense Akeldama took a long sip of tea before looking up through dark eyelashes, eyes gleaming with bright curiosity.  
“Of course I do Conall. Four dead and still no clues. One week until the Convention, dare I say, you are in a pinch, no? It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out dear.”


End file.
